Dancing in the Rain
by Xx Clear Dawnlight xX
Summary: This is a fairytale world, full of light and love, and she is a daughter of the Raven. Rue feels like she does not belong. Mytho knows otherwise.  /LJ Secret Santa Gift Exchange 2010/


This is the story I wrote for kurozukin_a, my giftee on the LJ Secret Santa exchange in the Princess Tutu community. Sorry for the bad title, I've never been much good with those.

Hope you like it, hon, and apologies for not being able to do you any fanart thanks to my stupid scanner.

Disclaimer: I'm just kicking over the sandcastles in someone else's sandbox.

* * *

Rue paced the corridors of the castle. She felt restless. She didn't belong here. This was a fairy tale world, and she was a daughter of the Raven. Even Mytho, tainted as he was by the blood of the Raven in the same way as her, was at home here.

She shook her head. Of course he was. This was his story. She sighed. The people had accepted her, certainly, but she was tired of always having to pretend that she was a perfect princess of light, like her husband.

And she missed Mytho – or Siegfried, as he was called now – which was stupid, but they hardly got to spend time together any more. It was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, and yet she still needed him every bit as much as she had as a small child. She felt vaguely disgusted at herself for it.

She bit her lip as a maid passed her. She couldn't cry. Not here, at least. She needed to be strong. She turned the corner, and her line of sight travelled straight down the corner and out of the window, her gaze falling on the garden.

_Perfect. _

Rue wandered aimlessly through the castle gardens. They were enormous, and she'd never really had a chance to explore them. It was a shame, she thought absently as she passed through a herb garden, that they were so neatly kept. Gardens always looked so much more beautiful when they were a little wild, a little tangled…

She sighed. But this was a castle, and castle gardens couldn't be like that, could they? She brushed her hair out of her eyes and turned a corner, around a large bush, and came face to face with a rose garden. Her lips twitched slightly, falling on a blood-red blossom the exact colour of her eyes. How pretty.

She softly moved forwards and reached out a hand to gently caress the petals with one finger. They were soft and satin-smooth. She bent, allowing her nose to come close to the blossom, two fingers touching either side of the stem just below it, and enjoyed the fragrance for a moment, before pulling back.

"Ouch!" As she had attempted to extract her finger from the bush, she'd caught the tip on a thorn. She looked at the drop of crimson blood on her finger for a moment, almost incredulously. Her lips twisted into a smile. Red. The colour of her eyes – the colour of blood. Fitting. It's gentle petals, it's beauty, the colour – the rose, like her, had more than one side. It, too, had a darker side, a side that deigned to cause harm to others. Did the rose, too, not truly wish for the harm of others? Did it find itself hurting those that came close to it, all the while desiring only for their company, for them to understand it?

She shook her head, mentally admonishing herself. It was just a flower. She stuck her finger in her mouth and sucked it until the blood flow seemed to have stopped, and then brushed it dry against her skirt. Casting one last look at the rose, she slipped between the bushes and continued with her walk, not caring when her skirt snagged on the thorns and tore.

Mytho sighed, signing and then setting aside another form. He glanced out of the window, up at the sky. "Looks like rain," he muttered to no one in particular. Rain would make a refreshing change, as the weather was generally sunny in his kingdom. Just another part of being place out of a fairy tale, he supposed. He resisted the urge to smile again, and a movement caught his eye as he went to turn back to his desk. He frowned, and then stood and moved to the window. Was that Rue?

Rue stopped as she reached an expanse of perfectly-manicured grass, complimented in the centre with a marble slab, columns at the corners, that she could see had once housed a large statue. Her gaze swept the area. It looked like a perfect stage for dancing. She hadn't danced much since she had arrived here, she realised. She smiled regretfully, and stepped onto the marble without a thought. What better time to start again than now? Dancing had always helped her to express emotion before, and that was exactly what she needed to do now.

She took a deep breath, and slowly, gracefully, her movements just barely controlled, she raised her arms to curl above her head, her feet finding their correct places as she slid into fifth position. She held the opening pose for a moment, wincing. It had always been painful, but not this painful – not for a long time. It just showed how out of practise she was.

She gently lifted one leg, stretched it out, reached her hand forwards – and stumbled. She winced and brushed one finger along the base of her eye to remove a single tear. As if in response to the drop of water, a cold bead of rain landed square on the back of her hand. She ignored it and tried again. This time, she slipped more easily into the rond du jambe, up onto demi pointe and then onto full pointe – as far as she could without toe shoes - sliding through into an arabesque, and then into an endless series of fouettés en tournant, around and around until she should have been dizzy. The rain fell, faster and faster, mixing with the tears of pain – physical and emotional – that coursed down her cheeks until it was impossible to tell one from the other. She felt amazingly, inexorably… _free._

She stopped spinning, her hands miming instinctively, one leg stretching out, and then down as her hands raised again, only to fall down, gracefully, the movement repeating again. Up, down, up, down. Her arms were her wings, and she was the swan that wished to escape. The marble should have been slippery – it was slick from rain – but if it was then she didn't feel it. She bent at the waist, leaning forwards and one knee finding the ground. The Dying Swan, a corner of her mind told her. Another reflected on how perfect the dance was for what she felt, but the majority of her mind was focused on this strange feeling of freedom. Her lips twisted into a smile. She had felt this way once before, except that it had been a desperate, lonely freedom. This was the freedom of finally expressing a pent-up emotion.

Her hands raised one more time, she leaned backwards, ready to fall forwards, and then a warm hand – how could anything be so warm in this rain? – curled around hers and pulled her to her feet. Her red eyes found Mytho's amber ones and he smiled gently at her as he led her through _their_ pas de deux. They had danced it many times. "How-?"

"I saw you from the window," he explained softly, stretching one leg forwards to dip her. They straightened and he lifted her above his head. Her arms found their places instinctively, her body tensed just enough to hold her straight without making the action look forced. They held.

And then he gently lowered her back to the ground, his hands still at her waist. They never left her. One hand travelled up her back, over her shoulder, her neck, her cheek, and wiped away the rain and her tears, before they both met on her back, and in a swift movement he pulled her close, bowing his head over her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I haven't been spending time with you lately."

She smiled, curling her arms around his waist. "That's alright," she said softly, although they both knew that it wasn't, "you've been busy. You didn't have the time."

"I should have made time!" he said, fiercely. "And I will," he promised her. "I'll make time. They can shove all the petitions they like at me – you are more important." A small ray of sunshine broke through the grey clouds and illuminated not a king and his queen, but two young people embracing in the aftermath of the shower, all duties forgotten, all hurts forgiven.

She leaned up and kissed him gently, and his pale fingers tangled into her dark hair before they broke apart and rested their foreheads together. She held him tighter – they held each other tighter. She was never going to stop needing him as much as she had since she had been a small child, she realised, but she no longer felt disgust at the fact. Instead, she smiled, content to stay in his arms for now, the cold of her rain-soaked dress paling in significance next to his warmth.


End file.
